


Subtracting The Stars

by Sidara



Series: Fallout series [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:59:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidara/pseuds/Sidara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After jettisoning the warp drive reactor cores, getting anywhere is going to be a slow process for the crew of the Enterprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written when the movie first came out and posted on Livejournal. Edited for posting here. First in a two story series that I am no longer continuing.

“Can it be fixed?”

Scotty looked up from the main control terminal of Engineering One, the readouts showing more red than green; a tidal wave of critical damage that he had too few people left to actually deal with. He sighed. “Maybe, Captain. ’Tis top priority after Sickbay and Environmental, though I cannae guarantee we’ll get beta engine up and runnin’. When we shot the cores inta the singularity, it overloaded most of the ship’s system, despite the failsafes. Fried a lot of what we need in order ta work.”

Jim nodded tiredly, bruised and swollen face half-hidden in shadow. Engineering One was dimly lit after the stunt they’d pulled against the Narada, the environmental systems running on half-power to conserve energy. Which meant it was colder inside the ship than it had been, but not as cold as the planet Scotty had been picked up from. Save for the hissing creaks and pops of damaged equipment, it was eerily quiet in the guts of the Enterprise. Scotty was trying not to think about that.

“Chekov says we’re maybe a week out from the nearest Starfleet station,” Jim said, voice raspy. “We _need_ to reach it for repairs, because there’s no way in hell we can make it back to Earth in the condition we’re in. Can you at least give us enough power to make it to that station on impulse engines, one or both, since warp isn’t an option anymore? And can you do it without destabilizing other parts of the ship?”

Scotty rubbed a hand over his face, his eyes riveted on the control terminal. “Aye, Captain. Ye want a miracle, I think I can be yer saint.”

Jim nodded, the cockiness Scotty had gotten used to seeing nowhere to be found. The grim determination wasn’t an unwelcome replacement, if Scotty was being honest. “Good. I want an update every two hours. Send it to Spock as well.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Jim pushed himself off the wall he’d been leaning against and made his way back over damaged walkways to the turbolift. He passed exactly one other person on his way there, the engineer struggling to get another control terminal up and running to deal with the overload that Scotty’s could barely maintain.

_Goddamn it,_ Jim thought as he pitched himself into the turbolift and tapped in his destination. At least that engineer was alive. Too many others weren’t.

The turbolift doors opened a few moments later onto the bridge. Jim limped out and made his way to the captain’s chair, sitting down for the first time in a long while. “All right people. Status?”

It had been three hours since the Enterprise had escaped the singularity, the warp drive reactor cores somehow neutralizing what should have become a supermassive black hole. In those ensuing three hours, the surviving crew of the Enterprise had labored like dogs to keep the ship running and themselves alive. They were holding on by the skin of the ship’s external battle plating and that was pretty much it.

The Narada’s superior weaponry had damaged the Enterprise extensively, more than anyone had initially realized, because the Romulans knew just where to hit Starfleet’s flagship to make it count. _Hindsight is fucking perfect,_ Jim thought bitterly as he rubbed at his bruised throat.

There were areas of the ship opened up to space, still leaking oxygen and debris even after they got the damaged sections sealed off. The environmental systems were struggling to compensate for the loss and Jim thought maybe he should have let Scotty finish giving him his third miracle before asking for a fourth. So far the damage crews had managed to isolate only 30% of the structural damage. The ship’s original crew of 960 was down to something like 517 and falling with every thirty minute update McCoy sent him.

Hell, at least the inertia dampers were still working.

“External communications are still down,” Uhura said. “Damage crews are telling me there is absolutely no way for them to fix the relay station. It took a direct hit. They can cobble something up for short-range, but long-range is out of the question.”

Her voice, usually rich with the tones of a hundred different languages in every syllable she spoke, was ragged and worn. Uhura had been systematically trying to contact every section of the ship since their escape, her constant hail of, “This is the Communications Officer. Report status,” a steady mantra that continued to fill the bridge.

“So you’re saying there’s absolutely no way for us to contact Starfleet and let them know we’re still alive out here,” Jim said.

Uhura bit her lip and nodded. “Yes, Captain. That is exactly what I’m saying.”

Jim sighed. “What about a distress signal?”

“We’d still need the relay station.” Uhura frowned tiredly. “We’ve got some shuttles that are still intact. They could possibly set off those distress signals, but their range is very, very limited.”

“How limited?”

“About ze length of half ze solar system back home, Keptin. Cannot be picked up by ship in warp,” Chekov said.

A length that could be traveled in mere hours by a ship under fully working impulse drives. Except all they had was a damaged starship and a week-long journey ahead of them, if they were very, very lucky.

“That’s not what I was hoping for, but it’s something,” Jim said. “Uhura, get a crew to work on that. I want every available shuttle powered on enough to send out a distress signal. If there’s even a chance it’ll bring someone out our way, then we’re taking it.”

“Yes, Captain,” Uhura said and bent her head to her current task.

“Chekov, Scotty says he might be able to get beta engine up and running. If he can, even at half-power, does that shorten our projected ETA at all?”

Jim watched as Chekov re-evaluated his navigational equations, muttering to himself softly in Russian as he finally got the computer to spit out the results. “Could shorten trip one day.” Chekov gestured sharply with one hand as he studied the screen. “Maybe two.”

“Fine. I want you to work with Sulu and Scotty on figuring out just how far we can push the Enterprise without risking what’s left of her engines.”

They were still travelling on the gravitational waves that the singularity’s explosion had hit them with. They still had alpha engine running, even if it was barely functioning on one-quarter’s worth of power. Their ability to decelerate was practically non-existent though, and they had coasted thirty-million kilometers outwards since the battle. Sulu had managed—somehow—to guide the ship with Chekov’s help into a vector that would eventually bring them on course for that Starfleet station.

“Okay, I need—” Jim began, but was cut off by Uhura’s hail.

“Captain, First Officer Spock wants to speak with you,” she said.

“Patch it through to the main screen.”

Internal communications was running on a limited ship-wide band; wherever Spock was on the ship, Jim was amazed there was even a terminal left to contact the bridge. The area surrounding Spock was a charred broken mess, the fire from a direct hit long since sucked out by vacuum. Spock himself was suited up for space, his face distorted a little bit by the curved plasglass of his helmet.

“Spock, what do you need?”

“Captain, we have sustained heavy damage to both Phasers One and Two. Phaser Three, where I am now, is completely destroyed. Repairs would be useless and I am authorizing the damage crews to seal off this area,” Spock said.

“What about our shields?”

“At the moment, access to that control station is still blocked. Damage crews are nearly finished cutting their way inside, but it will take time to assess how badly our deflector systems were damaged.”

Everyone on the bridge tensed a little at that report. Not that Jim believed the Narada would rise from the dead and come after them, but he, like everyone else, would breathe just a little easier once they had confirmation that the Enterprise could raise her deflector shields. He’d take 1% strength over zero any day of the week.

“Keep me informed on their progress and continue with what you’re doing, Spock.” Jim pushed himself to his feet, fighting down the groan that wanted to crawl out of his mouth. “I’m heading to sickbay to take McCoy’s next report in person.”

“Understood, Captain.”

Spock cut the connection and Jim headed for the turbolift again. “Sulu, you have the conn.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. I have the conn,” Sulu replied.

Jim supposed he should remain on the bridge, there was probably something in the Regulations that said he was to keep his ass in the captain’s chair, but they’d lost too many people for everyone to remain at a single station. People were multi-tasking like crazy because their lives were hanging on the fact that everyone needed to be in five places at once.

Jim, as the Captain, needed to be in about twenty.

Rubbing hard at his gritty eyes, Jim tapped in the code for sickbay and arrived in what had become the most crowded area of the Enterprise since they’d left Earth. Corpsmen were still dragging the wounded here and far too many of the people Jim walked over and past were covered with sheets, tarps and the bloodied remains of uniforms when the nurses had run out of body bags.

Sickbay was located in the dead center of the Enterprise, a place that was purposefully hard to hit in order to keep the wounded safe. Except, for all of the fast-paced technological advances Starfleet had engineered for their starships over the past twenty-five years, they still had nothing against what the Narada had battered the Enterprise with. It had taken a singularity to destroy that damn ship from the future, after all, and sickbay hadn’t escaped the battle unscathed. Nowhere on the Enterprise had.

Initially, Sickbay had lost power when it was one of the few places that could least afford to. Backup generators hadn’t worked because the ship-wide systems had nearly burned out during their escape. Scotty had given Jim his second miracle when he’d gotten the environmental system back up and running in sickbay within forty-five minutes, but not before McCoy lost too many people who could have—maybe, possibly—survived.

Walking into the main medical bay where all surgery was taking place since triage was happening in the halls, Jim was just in time to hear McCoy call out, “Time of death, eighteen oh five.”

Jim watched tiredly as McCoy stepped back from the biobed and let the attendants transport the body onto a gurney and out into whatever room or hall that hadn’t filled up with the living or the dead yet. McCoy stripped off his bloodied gloves, turning a little when he caught sight of Jim out the corner of his eye.

“Captain,” McCoy said, the drawl in his voice beaten down into something flat.

“Bones,” Jim said, tilting his head towards the CMO’s office. “Got a minute?”

“No.”

They both still entered the office and let the door slide shut behind them. Jim slumped against the wall while McCoy leaned against a desk that shouldn’t be his. He was Acting Chief Medical Officer, the same way Jim was Acting Captain. The same way nearly all the command crew was Acting in some way. Too many people had gotten field promotions; too many more would earn them posthumously.

“What are the numbers?” Jim finally asked.

“Four-hundred ninety-two, but I think we’re stabilizing.”

Jim’s entire body flinched at that total “Stabilizing how?”

“Stabilizing as in I’m pretty sure the damage crews and corpsmen with them are nearly finished digging bodies out of the hardest hit areas of the ship.” The clinical tone of McCoy’s voice was at odds with the bleak look in his bloodshot hazel eyes. “I don’t know, Jim. We’ll probably lose more.”

Jim nodded, unable to deny that fact. “How’s Captain Pike?”

McCoy ran a hand through his hair. “Alive. Mostly. I don’t know the full extent of what Nero did to him, all I know is that damned slug I pulled out of Pike’s brain isn’t something I’ve ever seen before.”

“Is he conscious?”

“He was. He’s not right now only because I put him so deep under he won’t wake up until after we dock somewhere safe. You’re still Captain, if that’s what you were worried about.”

“It’s not. I just wanted to know he was alive. That he was going to make it.”

“He’s one of the few who will, but I’ve got other patients to deal with aside from Pike.” McCoy stared at Jim with the assessing gaze of a doctor. “You look like shit, kid.”

Jim managed to dredge up a smile for the other man. It wasn’t pretty. “So do you.”

“I mean it.” McCoy pushed away from the desk and walked over to where Jim stood. Well, leaning. It was pretty much the same difference at this point. “Give me five minutes, Jim.”

“Can’t, Bones,” Jim rasped as McCoy reached out carefully touched the bruising around his left eye, fingers sliding down to rest at the corner of Jim’s mouth. “The ship’s barely running and I can’t afford to be out of commission right now.”

McCoy snorted tiredly. “Damn it, Jim. I’m not asking you to let me put you under. I know the ship needs her Captain. I’m telling you to give me five minutes with a tricorder and a few hyposprays so that you can keep doing your job.”

Jim closed his eyes as he leaned forward, pressed a hard kiss against the other man’s mouth. He tasted blood and salt on McCoy’s tongue, on his own; from sweat or tears, it was anyone’s guess. Exhaustion was dragging at his limbs, the adrenaline he’d been running on for the past two days long-since gone.

“I’ll let you check me over so long as you give me a stimulant,” Jim said when he pulled back, blue eyes dull in his face.

“Jim—”

“Stimulant, or I walk the fuck out of here right now.”

He would, too, because he was just that annoyingly stubborn. Jim had been in enough fights in his life to know that while none of the injuries he’d sustained since arriving onboard the Enterprise as a stowaway were life-threatening, they still fucking _hurt_. That didn’t mean he had the right or the time to sit on his ass in sickbay while the rest of his crew did their jobs and the jobs of the dead.

“One stimulant,” McCoy warned. “ _One_ , Jim. You’ve been up for over forty-eight hours already. I’m not risking you collapsing from complications of sleep deprivation and your wounds, got it?”

“Sure, Bones. Lead the way.”

McCoy made a mental note to inform his staff that if Jim came around asking for a stimulant when McCoy wasn’t present, to tell the Captain hell fucking _no_. Maybe he should have Chapel hide all the stimulants, just to be sure. He wouldn’t put it past Jim to go hunting for them on his own.

True to his word, McCoy kept Jim on a biobed no longer than five minutes, managing to get an initial assessment of his best friend’s biostats and not liking what he was seeing, all the while knowing there really wasn’t anything he could do to fix it the way he wanted to. Not right now, not when the ship and her crew needed the exhausted man sitting in front of him.

Bruising and swelling of the trachea; black eye and a hairline fracture of the orbital bone; contusions, lacerations and deep muscle bruising; fractured ribs; badly sprained ankle. The computer kept listing out everything that was wrong with Jim and McCoy bit down on the protests that sat at the tip of his tongue even as he stabbed a hypospray into Jim’s neck, shooting him full of painkillers and the requested stimulant.

“Let me wrap your ribs and then you can go,” McCoy said.

“It’s fine, Bones.”

“Yeah, until you puncture your lungs and drown in your own blood. Turbolifts have limited reach through the ship right now,” McCoy said as he glared at Jim. “My staff might not reach you in time and I’m not taking that chance. Chapel, I need you over here.”

Between the two of them, they got Jim’s ribs stabilized and wrapped. Bones managed thirty seconds of an osteoregenerator before Jim was shoving his hand away and sliding off the biobed.

“I have to get back out there,” he said, giving McCoy’s arm a brief squeeze. “Thanks.”

McCoy just nodded. “It’s my job.”

“And this is mine.”

McCoy watched him leave, Jim’s body held a little straighter in the illusion of health that the painkillers were giving the other man.

“Doctor McCoy?” Nurse Chapel said, leaning against the biobed Jim had just vacated. Her white uniform was blood-spattered, her hair a frazzled mess, but her eyes were still sharp and her hands weren’t shaking yet. “We’ve got Ensign Ramirez prepped for surgery.”

McCoy nodded, swallowed back a weary sigh, and got back to the business of making sure people survived.


	2. Chapter 2

The stimulant McCoy gave Jim lasted exactly five hours. It should have lasted eight, possibly ten, but Jim’s weird physiology just wasn’t in the mood to properly breakdown medication like normal people did. Jim managed to function on his own another two hours after the stimulant left his system before the fuzziness of exhaustion returned. Fixing that required a trip to sickbay, but when Jim arrived he found out McCoy had let all his nurses and medical attendants know that stimulants were off-limits unless McCoy said otherwise. 

Not being one to ever really listen to authority, Jim simply stole a few hyposprays of the stuff when no one was looking and walked out of sickbay.

Probably not what he should have done, but it couldn’t be helped. Jabbing the hypospray into his neck in the turbolift, Jim pressed his thumb on the release button, welcoming the rush of adrenaline that coursed into his body. Synthetic, yeah, sure, but better than any chemical his own brain was producing—which, at the moment, felt like none. Jim pocketed both the empty hypospray and the three full ones as he walked back out into his damaged ship.

So far McCoy had been right. The death total had eventually stabilized, holding steady at 475 dead and 485 alive. Almost literally _half_ the crew of the Enterprise was dead. That wasn’t even counting the losses from the ships that had been destroyed at Vulcan. Or Vulcan itself and man, Jim was having difficulties dealing with the loss of most of his graduating class as it was. He didn’t even want to think about how the few Vulcan survivors they had on board were dealing with the aftermath of the destruction of their homeworld.

He already knew how Spock was taking it.

Spock wasn’t grieving. Yet. Calling him emotionally compromised and goading him into a fight wasn’t what Jim could call grieving, despite that aggressive show of emotion.

Not calling to get beamed back to the Enterprise while piloting a ship from the future straight into the Narada? Yeah, Jim wouldn’t call that grieving either. He’d call it suicidal.

“Hey, Spock,” Jim said. He edged around some of the damaged equipment in Science, amazed to see that this area of the Enterprise had come away with the least amount of damage he’d seen in hours. “What’s your status?”

“The ship in this area is as stable as we can get it under the power load Mr. Scott has managed to produce out of Engineering,” Spock said, the only one Jim had spoken to in hours who didn’t sound exhausted. Other people might think it was that famous Vulcan endurance that kept Spock behaving like all this was a stroll in the park, but Jim was going to go with polite attitude.

Vulcans were too uptight to fall over in an unconscious heap.

“Yeah, not really what I was asking.” Jim looked around, catching the eyes of the few blue-shirted science people working around them. “Give us a minute?”

Even though he had trained for this, even though being in command of a starship was all he’d ever really wanted since Pike had shared a drink with him in a bar in Iowa and practically double-dog dared him to get his ass into Starfleet, Jim was still a little bit amazed at how quickly he was obeyed. 

After escaping the singularity, he and Spock had carved the Enterprise in half to deal with the damage. It made it easier on everyone to have someone in command as a go-to person who wasn’t all the way on the other side of the ship. Everyone in Science was technically under Spock’s authority right now, but Jim was still Captain, something Spock didn’t seem to mind. So far all their conversations had been held over a comm but it had been ten hours since their escape and Jim needed something a little more real than a face on a screen.

“Is there a problem, Captain?” Spock asked. He had discarded his spacesuit and was now back in his blue uniform, the usually durable fabric torn from getting caught on metal and other components while working nonstop on repairs.

“Aside from everything else? You could say that.” Jim leaned his hip against a still working console and crossed his arms over his chest. “Just so you know, I don’t need an apology.”

Spock arched an eyebrow in a way that was familiar, when it really shouldn’t be. Jim was busy pretending the haze of memories that weren’t his floating around in the back of his mind really didn’t exist. That the headache he had was from being knocked around by Romulans a little too much. Jim was top of his class when it came to ignoring and hiding from personal bullshit. Always had been, always would be.

“Indeed,” Spock said. “Might I ask what I am supposed to not be apologizing for?”

Jim waved vaguely at his bruised throat. “But only half of these are from you. Your black sheep cousins have a pretty strong grip when they’re pissed off. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here.”

Spock waited silently where he stood, hands clasped behind his back, one pointed brow sharply arched.  
Reflexively, Jim glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. This was difficult enough without letting rumor run rampant through the ship that their First Officer was possibly a little more than emotionally compromised. Taking a deep breath, Jim opened his mouth.

“So, hey, the next time you want to try and die when I still need you to watch my back? Don’t.” Jim kept his attention riveted on Spock’s face, able to see the faint tension around the other man’s mouth not because he knew what to look for, but because someone else in his head did. “I really don’t appreciate getting to save the day without my sidekick. Besides, what would Nyota think if you hadn’t come back?”

“I can definitely state that I am in no way your sidekick, Captain, and Lieutenant Uhura understood at the time how precarious our situation was.”

“Uh-huh. Right. You really don’t know how women think, do you, Spock?”

“I fail to see how that is relevant to our current situation, Captain.”

“Okay, look. I’m no shrink, all right? I don’t do that psychobabble bullshit, I just call it like I see it.” He pointed a finger at Spock. “You didn’t want to be beamed out of that ship. I had to give the order for both of us. Even I know what that means.”

Spock was holding himself utterly still, his expression one of polite neutrality, like they were talking about the weather and how non-existent it was in space or something. Jim sighed and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, noticing the scorch marks there from a few terminals that hadn’t made it through the fight without minor fireworks.

“I understand what you lost,” Jim said slowly. “Not Vulcan, because hell, I don’t think _anyone_ can understand _that_. I mean about your mom. And I’m really, really sorry for what I said on the bridge, but I’m not sorry for what it got me.”

“Command,” Spock said simply.

Jim let his gaze drift back over to Spock. “You were wrong. I was right.”

Spock said nothing, but Jim didn’t think his silence was outright disagreement.

“I’m right again, about this.” Jim shook his head when Spock opened his mouth to protest. “No, let me finish. I’m right and you damn well know it. There’s no logical explanation you could ever give that would convince me your decision was sound. Because it wasn’t. You were obviously driven by emotion and don’t even try and blame it on the idiosyncrasies of us humans. I don’t know how Vulcans deal with suicidal people, but humans usually try and stage an intervention. This is me intervening. Suicide is not an option for you, Spock. Period. That’s an order.”

Spock blinked at him, shifting a little on his feet. That tiny physical tell told Jim just how tired the Vulcan had to be. Jim sighed and pushed himself up straight. “McCoy thinks we’re done losing people. He’s got—”

“It was a momentary lapse in judgment, Captain,” Spock interrupted quietly. “It will not happen again.”

Jim nodded slowly. “Good. I hate to think you wouldn’t be around for me to buy you a drink when we get back to Earth.”

“Terran based ethanol has no effect on Vulcans, Captain.”

“Really? Lucky for us you’re only half. We can get you half-drunk. And call me Jim. After this little heart to heart we’re having, I feel like we should be braiding each other’s hair. Or maybe Uhura’s hair. Hey, if you don’t drink, I’ll buy _her_ a beer when we get back.”

“Lieutenant Uhura does not drink beer.” Spock hesitated before continuing with, “She prefers a drink called Cardassian Sunrise.”

“Then I’ll buy her one of those and whatever else the bridge crew wants. You can watch us drink it all together.” The look in Jim’s eyes was anything but humorous. “And that’s what you would have been missing out on if I hadn’t saved your sorry green ass. Now, I already gave you McCoy’s good news. Give me yours.”

There was a brief moment of silence between the two, where no promises were made, but something was acknowledged in the arch of Spock’s brow ( _duly noted, Captain_ ) and the tired, biting smile on Jim’s face ( _next time I won’t save your sorry green ass, I’ll_ kick _it_ ).

Then it was back to the business of fixing a ship, not just its people, to get them all home.


	3. Chapter 3

No one really slept during the first twenty-four hours after their escape. There was too much damage to contain, too many repairs to make, too many people to try to save. It was only after McCoy nearly injected an Ensign with a dosage of painkillers that would have been criminal did he pull rank.

“McCoy to bridge,” he said into the comm, leaning his forehead against the wall. “I need to speak to the Captain.”

“Dr. McCoy, this is the First Officer,” came the reply. “The Captain is in Engineering at the moment with Mr. Scott. May I be of assistance?”

“We need to cut everyone down to a skeleton crew and set up sleep rotations,” McCoy explained. “That wasn’t a suggestion. People are going to start hitting sleep deprivation if they haven’t already and that’s not going to do anyone any good.”

“I see.” Spock paused. “I will relay your orders to the Captain.”

“No, Spock. I’ll tell him myself. You decide which people on the bridge get downtime first and you had better factor yourself into that schedule. I want whoever you choose off the bridge in five minutes. That’s an order from your CMO, so you damn well better follow it.”

“Of course, Dr. McCoy. The Captain should be in Engineering One.”

Spock cut the connection.

“Damned pointy-eared bastard,” McCoy muttered as he stabbed at the comm again. “I’m gonna have to _haul_ him off that bridge, I just know it. McCoy to Engineering One. I need to speak to the Captain.”

“Aye, McCoy, he’s here,” Scotty’s voice said, his words cracking a little from exhaustion over the uplink. “Let me get him.”

A minute or two later and then Jim was saying, “Bones.”

“Captain.” McCoy cleared his throat, let his eyes close. “I already told Spock, but I’m ordering sleeping shifts for everyone. We can’t push ourselves like this for too much longer without it impacting our health and our ability to work. I don’t think you want a mistake to lengthen our trip home.”

“Understood,” Jim said. “I’ll make a ship-wide announcement from the bridge, have the crew leaders decide on who gets to sleep first. You think five hours is enough?”

“I’d prefer twelve, but I know that’s not going to happen.” McCoy opened his eyes and rubbed at his forehead. “Go for six hours right now. The skeleton crew can have ten when it’s their turn. After every twelve hour work shift, everyone gets five hours of sleep. It’s not a good stagger, not with that sort of overlap, but it’ll keep people from passing out in the hallways until we get back home.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be good. When are you taking your shift?”

“Right now.”

“Leading by example, eh?”

“Not really. I almost killed someone because I couldn’t see straight and I need to operate on Pike again soon. I’ve got everyone else stable enough that I can finally focus on him. Can’t do that when my eyes are crossing.”

Jim’s voice softened just a little. “Get some rest, Bones.”

“You better put yourself on one of those sleep rotations, Jim,” McCoy warned, pitching his voice low. “Or I swear I’ll find your ass and drug you unconscious.”

“Kinky,” Jim said, but with only a thread of his usual teasing tone. “I’ll sleep once I’ve got all this sorted out.”

McCoy was too tired to take it as anything except face value, forgetting how good Jim was at twisting words and meaning around to suit his own needs. “Make the announcement, then get some rest, Jim.”

“Go lie down, Bones.”

Jim cut the connection and McCoy pushed himself away from the comm. “Chapel?”

“I heard,” Chapel said as from where she was slumped against a prep counter, sorting empty hyposprays from usable ones. “I’ve got an idea of who might be able to cover the skeleton shift.”

Nurse Chapel had literally been his much needed right hand since he’d taken over as ACMO, always there when he needed her, handing over tools and medication, updates and suggestions. He honestly didn’t know how he would have gotten through it without her steady presence. A doctor was never as good alone as he was with an excellent support staff. It was something he’d always believed in, and this just proved it.

“Run it by me,” was all McCoy said.

She did, and it pretty much matched his own assessment of his medical staff. He made some tweaks on the information she had already gathered before he went around giving everyone their new orders—which was to sleep.

“Anywhere, somehow, just do it,” McCoy told them. “Those of you designated for skeleton crew, you get a little longer for rest, but right now, I want as many of you on downtime as we can afford.”

There was absolutely no arguments, from any quarter, when McCoy finalized the new shift rotations. Sickbay was already short-handed like everywhere else on the ship and the change-up was going to leave them even thinner on the ground, but it had to be done. The good thing, if one could call it good, was they had all the wounded as stable as they could get them. There was only so much healing that could be done with damaged equipment and halved-medical supplies for the little over one hundred wounded in sickbay, thirty to forty of them in serious or critical condition, that McCoy and his medical staff had managed to save.

McCoy took himself off-duty, ceding command for the next six hours to the next highest ranking doctor, a junior-grade Lieutenant who had seen better days but who looked less bleary-eyed than McCoy did. Stumbling over to his office on the other side of the medical bay, McCoy fell onto the couch, stretched out and closed his eyes, his muscles twitching from exhaustion.

“Computer, lights off.”

The office went dark, but not before the chime signaling a ship-wide announcement filled his ears.

“Enterprise, this is your Captain speaking,” Jim said. “Dr. McCoy has ordered a change in rotation for downtime. That being the case, this is how we’re going to work it.”

McCoy fell asleep between one breath and the next, Jim’s voice murmuring in his ears.

He woke to Nurse Williams shaking his shoulder, light streaming in from the main medical bay. “Dr. McCoy,” she said tiredly. “You’re on duty.”

Those six hours, while unable to completely erase the exhaustion still sticking to his bones, had done wonders for clearing his mind. A cat-nap in the middle of a long, long shift, like the sort he used to take in quiet rooms on his rounds at a Georgia hospital back on Earth, went a long ways toward making him coherent.

McCoy groaned as he sat up, his entire body stiff. Rubbing at his face he waved Nurse Williams off. “Go find a bed, darlin’.” 

Nurse Williams stumbled away. McCoy spent a few minutes in the adjacent head, using the small sink there to clean off his face and scrub the foul taste out of his mouth. He was hungry, he realized as he stared at himself in the small mirror. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate and knew he had to get some food in him before he started operating on Pike.

Leaving the office, he found sickbay filling up with everyone who was coming off the first sleep shift. Checking his staff over with a sharp eye, McCoy saw that while they all still looked like they’d gone ten rounds in a boxing ring, they looked better than they had in hours. Nurse Chapel even managed to dredge up a smile for him when she came winding her way past numerous biobeds to reach his side.

“Here’s the overall report on the patients,” she said, handing over a PADD and a cup of coffee. “We didn’t lose anyone while we slept.”

“Small favors,” McCoy said as he slurped up his coffee. “I want to prep Pike for surgery as soon as possible.”

“You’re not doing anything until you eat something,” Chapel said firmly. “Neither is anyone else.”

“You’re starting to sound like me.” McCoy gave her a weary smile. “Let’s hope it doesn’t stick.”

“I’m a nurse,” came the tart reply. “Nothing sticks unless I want it to. Food’s that way.”

Some enterprising nurse or medical attendant had fought valiantly to produce pastries and bagels with cream cheese from the replicator. It was the quickest, easiest thing to eat on the run and while it wouldn’t have been his first choice for breakfast, McCoy was not going to argue in the presence of food.

He ate quickly, just enough to settle his stomach and keep it from trying to gnaw its way to his spine. Then he grabbed a small group of medical attendants and nurses, headed up by Nurse Chapel, and all of them entered the smaller operating room connected to the main medical bay.

This was where they had relegated a few of the more critical patients and there was no one more critical than the rightful captain of the Enterprise. Captain Pike was lying in a stasis field, his condition unchanged since McCoy had put him under after cutting that slug out of his brain. The stasis field had kept him in the exact same condition since then, because at the time, there hadn’t been any time to work on him more than that. Now there was, and McCoy was going to have to perform what could quite possibly be one of the most important operations of his career.

Saving the life of a decorated Starfleet captain was not something to be done lightly, but he had an excellent support team. Staring down at Pike’s pale face, McCoy rested a hand against the stasis field while Nurse Chapel started to set up the tools he would need.

“All right, everyone,” McCoy said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

It was a ten hour, delicate procedure, involving all of McCoy’s skill for the treatment of what was broadly classified as traumatic brain injury and narrowly classified as _holy mother of god_ by the medical team performing the operation. McCoy had never in his life seen so much damage to the cerebral cortex of a human brain and despite all the medical prowess that Starfleet boasted, it still wasn’t enough to completely fix what had been damaged.

Pike was looking at partial paralysis that could very well become permanent if his subsequent aftercare wasn’t the best. But this was Starfleet. McCoy knew that Starfleet only accepted the best and nothing less than that. Pike would survive. How intact his survival was wouldn’t be known until after they made it back to Earth and got a better assessment. Right now, he could remain out of stasis, if consistently kept unconscious, with only brief bouts of awareness in between. He needed to rest in order to heal.

“Did you want him to remain in here, Dr. McCoy?” Nurse Chapel asked as the rest of the operating team began to clean up the area.

“No.” McCoy shook his head. “We may need the space. Let’s put him out in the main area where I can keep an eye on him.”

It required shifting patients, which was easier now that everyone wasn’t rushing like they had been in the early hours of their ordeal. McCoy made sure Pike was set up securely in a biobed, vital signs showing up on the computer as strong as they could be. With Pike settled, McCoy made his rounds with the other patients, which took another two hours and put him at the end of his work shift.

He wasn’t ready to sleep yet, because he still hadn’t made it to the bridge. Leaving sickbay behind, McCoy headed for the turbolift with a tricorder in hand and took it up to the bridge, where he found Spock in the Captain’s chair and everyone else slowly relinquishing their stations to the skeleton crew.

“Where’s Kirk?” McCoy asked, surprised. “I thought he’d be here?”

“The Captain chose to work the skeleton crew rotation, Dr. McCoy. I came back on duty six hours ago,” Spock said.

“That still doesn’t answer my question. Where’s Kirk?”

“The Captain said he was going to rest as soon as he finished helping Mr. Scott with a procedure involving beta engine,” Uhura told him as she walked past McCoy, heading for the turbolift.

McCoy could feel a vein begin to throb near his temple. “Did any of you bother to find out if he would actually do that?”

“I assumed the Captain would follow the orders you gave everyone,” Spock said. “You do have the authority to override a Captain’s command, after all.”

“If he doesn’t listen to me on Earth, what makes you think he’d listen to me now?” McCoy growled. “You shouldn’t have taken him at his word when it comes to his own well-being, Spock. Hell, I shouldn’t have, either.”

McCoy spun on his heel and hurried back to the turbolift, ignoring the sound of heavy footsteps behind him. Uhura was stepping inside when McCoy and Spock slipped in before the door shut. McCoy plugged in a destination overrode to erase Uhura’s request for the Officer’s Deck, sending them to Engineering One.

“I had assumed that the Captain would know that even he needs to rest,” Spock said evenly.

“Jim doesn’t know the first goddamn thing about taking care of himself,” McCoy snapped as the turbolift doors opened onto Engineering seconds later. “I’m going to wring his goddamn _neck_.”

Spock followed after McCoy, asking Uhura to stay behind and keep that turbolift clear of all personnel. McCoy made his way to Scotty’s terminal in Engineering One, the work area showing screens and screens of data. Scotty was sitting in his chair. Leaning against the back of it, pointing out something in the accumulated data, was Jim. It was quite possible, McCoy thought grimly, that Scotty’s chair was the only thing keeping Jim upright.

“No, if we transfer the overload here and here, that might make the difference,” Jim was saying, his voice sounding worse than the last time McCoy had heard him.

McCoy let his eyes drift clinically over Jim’s form, gaze catching immediately on the tip of the metal cylinder sticking out of Jim’s pocket. Feeling his chest constrict, McCoy closed the distance between them, deftly snagging the hypospray. He didn’t even need to ask what it was; he could guess.

“What the hell, Jim?” McCoy spat back, startling the two men he’d snuck up on. “How many of these did you take from sickbay?”

“Bones, what?” Jim said, jerking around in surprise and nearly losing his balance. He looked half-dead, face sickly gray from exhaustion and eyes more red than blue. The bruises on his face and throat stood out in stark relief.

McCoy reached out to grab Jim’s arm, keeping him upright even as he pulled three more hyposprays from Jim’s pockets. All of them were empty. McCoy’s temper was matched only by the sick worry in his gut as he calculated the dosage in each hypospray, Jim’s weird reactions to drugs, and the fact that the other man had quite probably been up for almost four days straight now.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” he swore as he pressed two fingers to Jim’s throat to check his pulse. “You’re stupider than I thought and I am never letting you back into my sickbay unsupervised. What were you _thinking_?”

“They kept me awake, Bones,” Jim protested as McCoy pulled him away from the Scotty’s chair. His only support gone, Jim’s knees buckled almost immediately and McCoy barely caught him in time. “Wow. Dizzy.”

“No, _really_?” McCoy’s voice practically dripped acid as he slung Jim’s arm over his shoulder and hauled the other man up against him, taking most of his weight. “You’ve only been awake for half a week, Jim. Why _wouldn’t_ that make you dizzy?”

“Not a big deal,” Jim muttered tiredly, voice slurring just a little. “Needed to stay awake.”

“Not at the cost of your own health!”

Jim scowled at him, or tried to. He was apparently too tired to do anything except glare fuzzily in McCoy’s general direction. “We’ve almost got beta engine working.”

“ _We,” McCoy muttered. “I’m pretty damn sure even Scotty’s gotten some sleep since this whole mess happened. Honestly, Jim, you can’t push yourself like this, okay?”_

“Don’t try and hypospray me, Bones,” Jim warned, blinking rapidly, like he was trying to stay awake now that his formidable concentration had been broken. “It’ll be bad on morale to have both Captains not awake.”

McCoy just stared at him. “I don’t have to do that, Jim. Your body’s gonna do it for me. Spock, a little help here.”

Even as McCoy watched, Jim’s eyes rolled up and he went limp in the doctor’s grasp, absolute dead-weight in the way only true unconsciousness could bring. McCoy staggered a bit before Spock was there, reaching to take the Captain. Spock lifted the unconscious man into his arms with a strength McCoy grudgingly appreciated.

“I dinnae know he had those,” Scotty said, pointing at the empty hyposprays in McCoy’s hand and sounding a little frantic. “I dinnae know that—”

“Not your fault,” McCoy interrupted as he passed the tricorder over Jim to get a reading on his current condition. “The Captain’s so damned focused on getting us home in one piece that he’s not thinking straight when it comes to his own health. I know you’re not on any skeleton crew, Scotty. Let someone else on your staff take over, then get the hell out of here and get some rest.”

“What about the Captain?”

“He’ll be fine,” McCoy said as he started towards the turbolift, Spock barely half a step behind with Jim passed out cold in his arms. _He better be fine._

“What happened?” Uhura asked worriedly as the three appeared in her line of sight.

“The damned idiot was using stimulants to stay awake,” McCoy said as he tapped in sickbay for their next destination after the doors closed. He held up the four empty hyposprays. “He stole these when I wasn’t looking.”

Uhura bit her lip. “Is he going to be okay?”

McCoy sighed as the doors opened onto sickbay moments later. “He’s been up for nearly four days, half of that while using drugs.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Dr. McCoy.”

McCoy ignored her, more focused on mentally running through the tests he was going to have to perform on Jim than allaying anyone’s fear. Spock and Uhura followed him into sickbay with the Captain and McCoy didn’t miss every single worried look directed their way. He had to fight back a grimace as he recalled Jim’s words about it being bad for morale if both Captains were out of it.

“Put him down here,” McCoy said, pointing at one of the two empty biobeds the medical staff was keeping open for any incoming cases.

Spock laid Jim down on the biobed, the computer snapping on with a variety of vital signs and medical stats. McCoy studied the initial results before finally turning away with a grunt to find Nurse Chapel by his side with a tray of hyposprays and several regenerators.

“Is the Captain all right?” she asked worriedly, voicing the question everyone else in sickbay wanted to ask.

“He will be,” McCoy said as he took a hypospray off the tray and wielded it appropriately against the side of Jim’s neck.

“Sedative?” Spock asked.

“No. Painkiller. He’s messed up his system with those stimulants he stole and the best course of action right now is for him to sleep naturally. I’ll put him under if he shows any sign of waking up before twenty-four hours have passed.”

“I see.” Spock nodded at the Captain. “Please keep me posted on his condition, doctor.”

“You’re not staying up for another twenty-four hours, Spock,” McCoy stated flatly.

“The Captain had the skeleton crew shift.”

“The Captain is an idiot. You can cover his shift and then hand over the conn to Sulu. The two of you can share it until Jim is back on his feet, got it?”

Spock inclined his head ever so slightly. “A sound suggestion, Dr. McCoy.”

“And if I find out that you’re pulling a Kirk on me, Spock, I’ll put you under so fast you won’t know it happened until you woke up in here staring at the ceiling. Now get out of here and get some sleep. The both of you.”

Spock merely arched an eyebrow before turning on his heel to leave with Uhura at his side. McCoy rested his hands against the edge of the biobed, staring down at Jim’s pale, exhaustion lined face, and sighed.

“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath. “When you wake up, we’re gonna have words, Jim.”

Beside him, Chapel silently handed McCoy the osteoregenerator and the pair of them got to work on their second Captain of the day.


	4. Chapter 4

Pike woke up to the surreal experience of being unable to feel his toes.

The world was fuzzy and indistinct through the haze of drugs still coursing through his system, fighting to neutralize the effects of the toxins from that slug he could still taste in the back of his throat. That drugged barrier wasn’t enough to make him completely unaware of the fact that everything from his waist on down was a gigantic static blank to his brain. It wasn’t that his legs were numb, it was that they weren’t _there_ , even though when he frantically moved a hand, he could touch them.

The panic he was feeling must have tripped whatever machines he was hooked up to, because between one eye blink and the next, he was staring up into Dr. McCoy’s haggard looking face.

“Easy, Captain,” the other man said as his he kept Pike pinned to the biobed with a sure hand. “Easy. You’re going to be all right.”

“I can’t feel my legs,” Pike said hoarsely, gripping the sheets covering him with both hands.

The expression that crossed McCoy’s face was a complex mixture of emotions that he didn’t bother to try to hide. “I make it habit never to lie to my patients,” McCoy said. “It was bad, Captain. I’ve done what I can with what equipment we have left, but to be honest, you’re lucky you can feel anything at all.”

Pike swallowed dryly, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “Water.”

“Ice. Don’t sit up, I’ll give you some.”

McCoy carefully fed the older man small ice chips. It made the taste in Pike’s mouth even worse, but at least his throat didn’t feel like a desert.

“What’s the damage?” Pike said when he finally had enough.

“You or the ship?” At Pike’s alarmed look, McCoy just shook his head. “No, I’m not giving you that report. Spock will be here in a few minutes. You can wait until then.”

“But—”

“If anything worse had happened, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, because we’d be dead.”

Pike took in a steadying breath. “Fine. I see your point. Then what’s _my_ status, Dr. McCoy?”

“Partial paralysis from the lumbar region on down, starting at the L3 vertebra. That doesn’t take into account what might happen after the swelling around the spinal cord goes down. You could possibly regain feeling,” came the quiet answer. McCoy didn’t look away. “I pulled that slug out of your brain first, but then had to put you into stasis until we had all the wounded stabilized. I only managed to operate on you yesterday. I did what I could with what I had, Captain. I’m hoping it’ll be enough that, when we get back to Earth, the surgeons at the Academy can fix you up the rest of the way.”

Pike closed his eyes, feeling his stomach twist into knots. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You’re looking at physical therapy for at least six months after this and that’s going to be a rough recovery.”

“I’ve had my share of physical therapy over the years, doctor. I promise I won’t hate you by the end of it.”

“You’d be the first. Here’s Spock.”

Pike opened his eyes and could see that McCoy was scowling, but he ignored the doctor in favor of his first official visitor since getting rescued. Pike turned his head just enough to see Spock standing next to his biobed in sickbay and had to blink at the image the half-Vulcan presented. In the few years that Pike had known Spock, he had never seen the other man in such a ragged state, with tears in uniform and grease staining the fabric all over the front. His hair was a little on the messy side, which was a sure hint that maybe Pike was dreaming.

“You sure I didn’t die, McCoy?” Pike asked.

“I can assure you that Dr. McCoy went above and beyond the call of duty to heal you, Captain,” Spock said.

McCoy snorted. “Don’t think that’s what he was talking about, Spock. Now, I had to wake him up to assess his condition, but I don’t want you making it worse. You’ve got five minutes, remember? _Five_.”

“Of course, doctor.”

“And you, Captain. Do not, under any circumstances, sit up. Your body can’t take that position right now and you’d ruin all the work I’ve done.”

“I will make sure that Captain Pike does not overexert himself, Dr. McCoy,” Spock said.

McCoy left, muttering under his breath. Pike didn’t catch a word he said. “How’s my ship?” Pike asked, staring up at Spock.

Spock let one hand come and rest against the side of Pike’s biobed. “Mostly intact.”

“What did I say about scratching her?”

It was a weak attempt at humor that Spock still didn’t get. Pike sighed, the sound more tremulous than he would have liked. Vulcan humor was boring.

“Report, Captain Spock,” he said quietly, deftly making the point on who was still in charge. A starship had to have a functioning chain of command. Pike, paralyzed and confined to sickbay with an uncertain future he was refusing to think about, was not part of that chain any longer.

“It’s First Officer,” came the reply. “I gave up command under regulations, sir.”

“ _What?_ ” Pike exclaimed, setting off a few alarms around his biobed, which brought McCoy back to his side in an instant, even as Spock made sure he didn’t sit up.

“That’s it, you’re going back under,” McCoy snapped. “Spock, get back to the bridge.”

“No, wait,” Pike said, weakly raising a slightly shaking hand against McCoy’s hypospray. “Who’s captaining the ship?”

“That would be Captain Kirk,” Spock said.

Pike stared up at both men, brows knitted tightly over his eyes. “ _Kirk?_ ”

“He is doing an excellent job, Captain,” Spock said quietly, gaze steady.

Which, coming from Spock, was like practically being nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. You had a one in a billion chance of achieving that nomination. Kirk really must have made an impression on the half-Vulcan for Spock to admit that.

_Proves I was right, back at that bar,_ Pike thought tiredly, even as he opened his mouth to ask, “Where is _Captain_ Kirk, then?”

Together, both men looked off to Pike’s left, and he turned his head to follow their gaze. On a second biobed, with a sheet pulled up to his chest and computers signaling steady, even vital signs, was one Captain James T. Kirk. He had his face turned away from them, his chest moving in deep even breaths as he slept, but even from his own biobed Pike could see some of the bruising Kirk had sustained.

“He didn’t sleep for almost four days,” McCoy said, glancing back down at Pike. “He’s all right, though. Just exhausted, like the rest of us.”

“If you will permit me my five minutes, Dr. McCoy?” Spock asked, voice exquisitely polite.

After a brief staring match, McCoy nodded and walked away, giving them the illusion of privacy for their debrief.

“I must make this quick, Captain,” Spock said. “Dr. McCoy is exceedingly strict when it comes to his patients. The ones he can control, at least.”

Pike managed a faint bark of laughter. “Kirk?”

“Indeed. However, Captain Kirk has performed his duties to a degree I think most serving officers would respect.”

Yeah, maybe Kirk would actually win that Nobel Peace Prize.

“Tell me what’s happened since he pulled me off the Narada, Spock.”

Spock did, filtering out the unnecessary bits for the logical, giving Pike a clear understanding of what had happened in his absence and where they currently stood. Pike couldn’t hide his flinch when given the cold hard facts of the damage that the Enterprise had sustained, nor the incredulous look when Spock reported that Kirk and a Mr. Scott—whoever the hell _he_ was—had managed to restart beta engine and get it running up to half-power without the help of Starfleet yard dogs and a parts warehouse at their disposal. Apparently stowaways were worth their weight in miracles, who knew?

“All right,” McCoy said as he appeared by Pike’s bedside again. “Your five minutes are up.”

“Can we have—” Pike tried to protest.

“No,” McCoy said flatly as he picked up a hypospray. “You need to rest. Your ship is in good hands, Captain.”

Pike sighed, giving in to the inevitable. “And I’m in yours. All right, Doc. I bow to your formidable expertise.”

A startled look passed over McCoy’s tired face at the use of that old honorific. Pike offered up a faint smile even as McCoy pressed the hypospray full of sedatives against his throat.

_My ship,_ Pike thought, glad for the darkness that bled across his vision. _My ship._

A ship that was no longer his. He knew that, same as the men who faded from view knew it. His career had been long and worthwhile, some might even say brilliant, but the rest of his life meant nothing to him if he couldn’t have a deck beneath his feet.

Pike slipped under in seconds, his vital signs evening out. McCoy watched the screens with a sharp eye until the spikes signaling stress rounded off.

“He will be all right?” Spock asked as McCoy set aside the hypospray.

“Like I told him. I did all I could with what we had. I’m hoping it’ll be enough.” McCoy shrugged. “What I wouldn’t give for a neuroregenerator, but the one we’ve got on board was damaged in the first fight with the Narada. I couldn’t ethically use it, even if it partially worked.”

“I see. You do yourself a disservice by second-guessing your actions, Dr. McCoy. You produced spectacular results with limited tools and limited staff. Not just for Captain Pike, but for all of the wounded.”

“If I wanted a logical assessment of the people I didn’t manage to save, I would’ve asked for it. I didn’t.”

Spock inclined his head a little. “How is Captain Kirk?”

McCoy stepped away from Pike’s bedside and over to Jim’s. He’d put both Captains side by side near his office. Easier to keep an eye on both of them and he could only wish that Jim had Pike’s ability to listen to a doctor’s orders.

“Sleeping—drugged, this time, just so you know. He woke up about twelve hours into his rest talking about needing to cover his shift.” McCoy snorted. “He about cussed me out when he realized I was going to sedate him.”

“Is that wise? I do not mean to question your methods, but he did take quite a large amount of stimulants.”

“Over the course of twenty-four hours. If it was anyone else I’d be worried about the stuff still being in their system, but Jim’s physiology isn’t one I’d ever call normal, Spock. Most drugs have very little positive effect on him. If they _do_ work, it’s for a very brief amount of time because he burns through them too fast or he has an allergic reaction. I try not to give him too much of the ones that work, because I don’t want him to grow an immunity to them. I could probably do my dissertation on him if I hadn’t already done it back when I was in University.”

“Yet the sedative worked.”

“Yeah, that worked, only because there’s so many on the market. I’m lucky that way.”

“I doubt the Captain would agree with your conclusion.”

McCoy’s mouth quirked into a tiny smile. “No, probably not. Though he never complained about the alcohol diffusers I’d give him back at the Academy. _Those_ work.”

“How fortuitous.”

McCoy snorted. “Just because you’ve never tasted a decent scotch in your life doesn’t mean you have the right to look down on Terran alcohol.”

“On the contrary, Dr. McCoy. The Captain has made it expressively clear that I am to watch all of you partake in that tradition when we return to Earth. I believe he phrased it as an order.”

“Really. You gonna listen to him?”

“Perhaps,” came the serene answer. “If you will excuse me. I must go relieve Sulu of command now that I have spoken with Captain Pike. Do not forget to obey your own orders regarding rest, Dr. McCoy.”

McCoy waved off his words. “I’ve got a staff that wields sedatives like Sulu wields that sword of his. I know when to rest, Spock. It’s you adrenaline-junkies who don’t.”

Spock arched an eyebrow at that opinion, but didn’t bother to counter it. He simply walked away, heading back to his duty. McCoy was left behind with his.


	5. Chapter 5

_I’m going to kill him._

It was the first thought that ran through Jim’s mind as he cracked open his eyes and stared blearily up at the ceiling. The lights in sickbay were dimmed to a low wattage. He didn’t know if that was because they were low on power or it was a sleep shift. If it was the former, that really wasn’t a good indicator for the ship as a whole. If it was the latter, well, he knew he’d lost time, he just wasn’t sure how much.

Groaning, Jim pushed himself up on his elbows and took stock of his surroundings. Sickbay was quiet, with only two nurses working at a terminal on the far side of the main medical bay he was in. He was surprised to see that Pike was lying in a biobed to his right, the older man pale-faced and unconscious, but looking better than he had since his confinement on the Narada. Shifting a little, Jim craned his head to try and get a better view of the computers monitoring Pike’s condition.

“He’ll be okay,” a familiar voice said from behind him.

“Yeah?” Jim asked, voice a little rough coming out of a dry throat. “You stab him enough times with a hypospray to get him that way?”

“No, I just cut open his brain. I stab _you_ with hyposprays because you deserve it.”

Jim made a face. “Nice.”

Shoving himself into a sitting position, Jim swung his legs over the side of the biobed, rubbing at the place on his neck where McCoy had stabbed him twice with a sedative-filled hypospray. McCoy noticed the motion and rolled his eyes.

“You get no sympathy from me, especially after you stole from my sickbay,” McCoy said, handing over a bottle of water.

“Whatever.” Jim took the bottle and drained it dry. “How is he really?”

“Alive. Partially paralyzed at the moment, but I’m hoping that will change once the swelling in his spinal cord goes down and we get back to Earth.” McCoy leaned against the biobed and cast a glance in Pike’s direction. “He’ll make it, though.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over the ones who didn’t,” Jim said quietly, looking McCoy straight in the eye. “You did all you could. I know you did.”

McCoy pressed his mouth into a thin white line before letting out a heavy sigh. “Lost more than I’m comfortable with.”

“I know.” Jim reached out and gripped McCoy’s shoulder hard, squeezing down tight. “I know.”

They stayed like that for a few moments, just two men shouldering too much. Then Jim pulled away, sliding off the biobed and getting to his feet.

“I see you put me within reach of your office.” Jim sent a pointed look at the door McCoy had come out of. “Don’t trust me, Bones?”

“Not in the least.”

Jim shook his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “What’s up with the lights?”

“Sleeping shift for most of the crew. The tail-end of it, anyway. Don’t worry, we still have almost full power in here. Scotty finished what you two were working on to get beta engine up and running. We’re functioning on half power with beta and almost three-quarters with alpha, according to Spock.”

Jim narrowed his eyes at that brief report. “How long was I out, Bones?”

“Twenty-nine hours,” came the blithe reply. “You kept waking up.”

“Twenty-nine _hours_?” Jim exclaimed loudly.

“Would you tone it down?” McCoy gave him a dirty look. “I’ve got patients trying to sleep in here. And you needed the sleep after that stunt you pulled with the stimulants. You were awake for close to four days, Jim. _Four._ Do you know how damaging sleep deprivation is to the human body? Compound that with your injuries and you should count yourself lucky I’m not sedating you for a _third_ time.”

Jim prudently took a long step away from McCoy, which conveniently got him out of arm’s reach. “I knew what I was doing, Bones. Besides, you’re wrong. I slept when Spock knocked me out and then marooned me on Delta Vega.”

“That doesn’t count.”

“It counts in my book.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “It _would._ Come on, let’s go.”

“If it’s to run more tests or whatever, can it wait? I need to find Spock.”

“You need to eat something first. And shower. You stink.”

Reflexively, Jim raised an arm and sniffed himself, then made a face. “Point taken. Where am I supposed to clean up? I don’t have quarters here.”

“Yeah, but I do.”

Jim followed McCoy out of sickbay and down the long hallway that was no longer filled with the wounded, the dying and the dead. There were still bloodstains scattered down its entire length and Jim averted his eyes as they walked past them. He didn’t want to think about who had lain in those spots and never gotten back up again.

“Here we are,” McCoy said. He tapped a code into the small control panel by a door located maybe fifteen meters down from sickbay.

McCoy let Jim go inside first. The room was a single, but more spacious than Jim thought it would be. It was completely bare, a testament to the quick deployment they had gone through. If Bones had brought anything on board with him, he’d hidden it all away.

“The head’s that way.” McCoy pointed at a much smaller door off to the side. “Go clean up. I’ll see if I can’t get the replicator to spit out a new uniform for you.”

“Make it match what I’m wearing now,” Jim said.

“Jim?”

Jim shrugged, tugging at the hem of his dirty and torn dark gray undershirt, the one he’d been wearing since he changed out of his cadet uniform upon his unofficial and most likely illegal arrival onto the Enterprise. “I’m not even supposed to be here, Bones. I should still be on that tarmac. The only color I should be wearing is red, not gold, but I’ll take black for now.”

McCoy stared at him for a long, silent moment before he crowded Jim up against the wall, hands fisted tight in Jim’s uniform. Then he kissed the other man so hard their teeth scraped together. Jim let out a surprised grunt before he was hauling McCoy even closer, kissing back just as fiercely, trying to suck the air out of McCoy’s lungs. There was no give on either side, just a painful, vicious reminder that they were alive when so many others weren’t and that knowledge tasted bitter on both their tongues.

McCoy finally dragged his mouth away from Jim’s and pressed his forehead against the other man’s. He flattened his hand over Jim’s chest, feeling the steady heartbeats of a body finally come to rest.

“Don’t believe for a _second_ that you don’t deserve the gold that comes with command,” McCoy whispered fiercely, staring unblinkingly into Jim’s blue eyes. “What you did saved a lot of lives. If it weren’t for your actions, we wouldn’t be here. Neither would Earth. So you think about that every time you look at the gold. There isn’t anyone more deserving to wear it right now than you. Ask anyone on this ship.”

“I’m asking you,” Jim said so quietly McCoy had to strain to hear him.

Closing his eyes, McCoy cupped Jim’s chin with one hand. “You’re a piece of work, you know that, kid? Sure, you’re a stubborn ass with attachment issues, but you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I can’t tell you from a command perspective if everything you did was _right_. I’m a doctor, not Starfleet brass. But I _can_ tell you that _I_ , Doctor Leonard McCoy, am fucking _glad_ you’re in command of this ship. That you were here to pull our collective asses out of a fire that probably burned hotter than the sort you’d find in hell.”

Jim dug his fingers into McCoy’s hips. “Okay.” He leaned forward to brush his lips over the corner of McCoy’s mouth. “I need to shower. Someone pointed out that I smell. Get me a new uniform. Make it gray.”

“Jim.”

“Until they give me gold, I’m not wearing it.”

McCoy opened his eyes and searched Jim’s face before nodding and stepping backwards. Jim pushed himself off the wall and walked into the head, stripping out of his dirty and torn clothes. The sonic shower cleaned him up in five seconds flat when what he really would have preferred was a long, hot, water shower. When he got out, McCoy tossed him a clean uniform and pointed at the food he’d managed to coax out of the replicator as well. Jim attempted to get dressed and eat at the same time and nearly fell over. McCoy just stood off to one side and watched with a faintly amused look on his face.

“Don’t choke,” McCoy said. “You have time. The shift change from regular shift to the skeleton crew is only just now starting.”

“Even more reason for me to hurry,” Jim said as he pulled on his boots. He stuffed the last piece of toast in his mouth and chewed fast. “I’m going to work the next two shifts straight—no, don’t argue with me yet, just hear me out. I need to debrief everyone who’s leading crew teams on the skeleton shift and I need to be accessible during the main shift. I promise I’ll sleep after that. You can even come track me down if you want.”

“What makes you think I wasn’t going to do that already?”

Jim smiled a little. “Yeah. Go ahead and give me your report.”

McCoy nodded and launched into a quick rundown on the status of all the wounded. They were still holding steady at the previous numbers, McCoy and his staff working hard not to lose anyone else, and that was all Jim really needed to know. Getting to his feet, he walked over to McCoy and gave him another, brief kiss on his way out the door.

“Thank you,” Jim said. “For watching my back.”

McCoy snorted. “Someone on this ship has to. Now that you’re up, maybe everyone will stop finding excuses to wander into sickbay and ask how you’re doing.”

“What did I tell you, Bones? Everyone loves me.”

“In your dreams. Now get out of here. And if you don’t end your work shift when you’re supposed to, you won’t like what I’m going to do.”

“Is that a threat, Dr. McCoy?”

“You bet your ass it is.”

Jim mock-saluted as he left. McCoy wasn’t going anywhere, since it was his turn to sleep. The shift change meant that more people were filling the corridors of the Enterprise and Jim didn’t miss the looks full of relief that were thrown his way as he headed for the turbolift. He took it all in stride, offering up a few nods of support on his way to the bridge. When he arrived there, it was at the moment when the skeleton crew was handing off command to the regular shift.

Spock and Sulu were standing by the Captain’s chair, with Spock listening intently to whatever Sulu was telling him. The second Sulu’s eyes strayed from the First Officer and latched onto Jim, an unabashed look of relief settled on his face.

“Captain,” Sulu said.

Everyone looked his way and Jim grinned. “Surprise?”

“Hardly, Captain,” Spock replied as he turned around to face him. “Dr. McCoy made it clear that he was going to allow you to regain consciousness sometime within the next few hours. Welcome back.”

“Thanks, Spock,” Jim said as he stepped up to where everyone was. “Got a minute? I need a debrief of the past thirty or so hours.”

“Of course.”

“Excellent. Sulu, you have the conn until we get back. Spock, let’s take the ready room.”

The pair of them crossed over the bridge to the single door that led to the ready room, slipping inside to the relative privacy it provided. Jim leaned a hip against the desk there, glad to be back on his feet. He didn’t feel like sitting down just yet, not after sleeping for just over a day. Spock stood at near attention, hands clasped behind his back in a pose Jim was starting to find comforting, if weirdly familiar. It meant, at least in his own mind and everything still swirling there, that nothing at the moment was going wrong on the Enterprise.

“You can sit, if you want,” Jim said, gesturing at the chair behind the desk and the few in front of it. “No need to stand at attention for me.”

“On the contrary, Captain. I prefer to stand.” Spock’s dark eyes searched Jim’s face for a few intense seconds. “Pardon my straightforwardness, but it is good to see you on your feet. Dr. McCoy and many others on the ship were worried about your well-being.”

“Bones gets off on using hyposprays on unsuspecting people who can’t fight back.” Jim smiled as he said that, taking the sting out of his words. “Sometimes he’s in the right, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Spock inclined his head.

“Now, what’s this I hear about beta engine mostly working?”

It was an easy opening that Spock took, rattling off an in depth report of the last thirty hours, bringing Jim up to speed on where exactly the Enterprise and her crew stood on their journey home. It had been four days now since they’d engaged the Narada and escaped the singularity. Repairs were going at pace, as much as they could with limited parts and limited crew, but they were better off than they had been before, which was saying something.

“Chekov and Sulu agree, as does Mr. Scott, that we are on schedule to reach the Starfleet station sometime within the next twenty to thirty-two hours, if the engines hold up,” Spock finished. “We still have no external comm except what the shuttles are providing, but Mr. Scott is working on that. He believes he might be able to fix our problem in that area.”

“Jury-rig,” Jim agreed with a nod. “We talked about that before Bones dragged me back to sickbay. The distress signal coming out of the shuttles is fine, but we can’t communicate with Starfleet from them. They aren’t talking to the Enterprise’s computer system and there’d be no way to relay any orders to the rest of the ship. That’s one of the areas which is completely burned out. A lot of sections are dark on the power grid and the communications grid.”

“Mr. Scott seems determined to fix it.”

“If anyone can, it’s Scotty. I’ll go see what he’s up to when he comes back on shift in case he needs my help after I spend some time on the bridge. Who covered my shift while I was sleeping?”

“I assigned Sulu to the hours that the skeleton crew was working, believing it prudent of me to remain on for the main shift since you were out of commission.”

“Good. You’ve got more command experience than Sulu. You’re better equipped at running a ship this large than he is.” Jim uncrossed his arms and headed for the door. “I’ve kept you long enough. Go get some sleep, Spock.”

“I presume when I come back on duty you will not try to continue working, Captain?”

“Something tells me Bones won’t let that happen again.”

“Dr. McCoy is a gifted and intelligent man. I am not the only one who is grateful he was assigned to the Enterprise.”

“Yeah,” Jim said as they walked out of the ready room together. “Me, too.”

Spock was the last of the main duty shift holders to leave the bridge. Sulu had taken over the helm and a Lieutenant was filling in for Chekov. Jim took his seat in the captain’s chair, got settled, and began to work with the communications officer that had replaced Uhura in reaching all the team leaders heading up the skeleton crew. It took almost the entire duty shift for Jim to reach everyone and get an update. By the time he’d finished, it was six hours later and the shift change was beginning to get underway. He remained on the bridge until Spock returned to relieve him of duty.

“I’m going to be with Scotty up in the communications relay station,” Jim told him. “I got what I needed from the crews working the skeleton shift. You’re in charge for this shift, Spock.”

“Is that wise, Captain?” Spock asked.

“Bones knows I’m working through two shifts. Trust me when I say he won’t let me work more than that.”

“Indeed.”

Jim left the bridge to Spock and went in search of his best engineer. He found Scotty elbow-deep in the guts of a the relay station, wires and cables and sensitive equipment spread out on the ground around him. Red-shirted engineers were following his orders as they worked to patch together enough of a makeshift sensor that they could gain back external communications.

“Scotty,” Jim called out as he carefully made his way over to the other man. “I heard you got beta engine back up and working.”

“Dinna sell yerself short, Captain,” Scotty said cheerfully, his voice muffled a little by machinery. “I couldnae have done it wi’out ye. Glad ta see ye up an’ about.”

“I’m yours if you need me.”

“Grab that wee cable over there.” Scotty gestured to his left without stopping what he was doing. “The copper colored one.”

Jim did as he was told, falling into the familiar routine of repairs. He spent all of his shift working with Scotty and the rest of the engineers on the communications relay station, managing to get short-range external communications up, even if the signal was a little shaky when the bridge tested it out on a jury-rigged station. By the time his shift was almost over, Jim wasn’t at all surprised to find that Bones had tracked him down.

“He’s a wee bit like Keenser in mother-hen mode,” Scotty commented as he set a wrench down on the ground and stuck his arm into the last control terminal, grinning up at Jim. “Least he won’t kick ye in yer knees.”

“I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Jim said as he straightened up. “Finish this and then get some rest, Scotty.”

“He means it,” McCoy said as he finally made it over.

“Just this last terminal,” Scotty protested, attention already back on the next problem. 

“Where have I heard that before?” McCoy muttered as he grabbed Jim’s arm and steered him out of the relay station when it looked like he was going to try and stick around to help Scotty. “Come on. Food, then sleep. You’ve been up for seventeen hours already.”

“I don’t feel tired,” Jim told him as they headed for the turbolift.

“Only because you’re crazy.”

Sulu was set to take over the bridge and Jim trusted Spock to deal with that transfer. He willingly followed McCoy back to the doctor’s quarters, where they ate a quick meal of sandwiches and vitamin-laced water before Jim claimed one half of the bed. It was barely big enough for one person, much less two, but they managed, legs and arms twisted around each other as they held on. They were too tired, despite Jim’s earlier protest, to do anything except fall asleep.

A sleep that was interrupted three hours later by a direct comm from the bridge.

“Bridge to Captain Kirk,” Sulu said, his voice jerking both men out of deep sleep. “You’re needed on the bridge.”

“Fuck, what now?” Jim muttered as he crawled over McCoy and nearly fell off the bed in his haste to get up. “Computer, lights on.”

“If it was an attack, we’d feel it,” McCoy pointed out, squinting through the sudden brightness as he reached for his own discarded clothes.

“That really doesn’t make me feel any better.”

Jim hauled on his clothes and shoved his feet into his boots. When he left the room, McCoy was just one step behind him as they raced for the turbolift. It took a few seconds to reach the bridge, finding that Spock had already beaten them to it. He’d had less of a way to go, coming from Officer’s Deck, so it wasn’t any surprise. The whoosh of the turbolift activating again had Jim looking over his shoulder even as he hurried toward the captain’s chair. Uhura came out of the turbolift with a nod in his direction before going to relieve the Lieutenant at her terminal.

“I called everyone up,” Sulu confessed from where he was sitting again at the helm, Chekov to his right. “Figured everyone would want to see this.”

On the main screen, silhouetted against the deep black of space, was a small, sleek scout ship. Jim sat down in the captain’s seat, feeling a breath leave his lungs he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He wasn’t the only one on the bridge breathing a sigh of relief.

“Chekov, I’m buying you a bottle of vodka when we get dirtside,” Jim said. “We’re over a day early for our projected arrival.”

“Thank god,” McCoy said from where he was standing a little ways from the captain’s chair.

“Captain, I have a comm request coming through from the other ship,” Uhura said, voice crisp and professional.

“Patch it through,” Jim said.

The main screen cut into a parallel view; the scout ship on the left and the ship’s surprised, almost shocked looking captain on the right. Jim thought he knew where the surprise stemmed from as he leaned forward, catching the other officer’s eye.

“This is Acting Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise,” he said, letting a weary smile cross his face. “We’re a little late getting here, but we’re home.”


	6. Chapter 6

Jim tugged at the stiff collar of his red cadet uniform and stared blankly at the floor between his feet. Sitting in the waiting room attached to Admiral Komack’s office in the Starfleet Command wing at Starfleet Headquarters was more intimidating than he thought it would be.

It had been three weeks since the Enterprise had limped back into Federation space, docking for repairs at a distant station full of people surprised to see they were alive. Starfleet had searched for them for the nearly six days that it had taken the Enterprise to fly home, with every ship that was left trying to locate a warp drive footprint that wasn’t ever going to be there. Their arrival had come right when Starfleet was set to vote on whether to keep searching for them or to officially list the Enterprise as lost with all hands.

Luckily, that vote never happened.

It had taken another week for Starfleet yard dogs to fix the Enterprise enough to get her back to Earth. A replacement of their warp drive engines had gone a long way to fixing their ability to fly. Even then, they had been forced to travel at a lower warp speed, unable to go higher without risking the Enterprise. There was enough structural damage to the ship that the yard dogs had wanted to keep her anchored at that repair station so they could conduct a complete overhaul. Jim had overridden their request, still in his position of Acting Captain to make it stick, a rank that had been approved and confirmed by Captain Pike before the older man had been transferred off the Enterprise and onto the USS Mercy hospital ship, along with all the rest of the wounded.

The Enterprise had flown back to Earth once she was space-worthy enough again, escorted by three destroyers for protection during those few days. Jim had reported to every damn officer that had asked while stuck on the station that the Narada had been destroyed, but with an entire _planet_ annihilated and tension escalating daily between the Romulans and the Klingons, no one was taking any chances with Starfleet’s lone remaining flagship.

Their arrival back on Earth had been greeted with teeth-rattling fanfare directed towards the survivors. After leaving the Enterprise in the hands of the yard dogs, her crew had been expressively forbidden from giving interviews to the press. That still hadn’t stopped the many planetary and off-planet reporters from staking out spots at the gates of the Academy, hoping to get an exclusive.

For several hundred people in need of counseling and a debrief, it had taken another week for official reports to be made by everyone to Starfleet brass. Jim and the rest of the bridge crew had been the first to be debriefed, spending days behind closed doors while others only spent hours. Jim had taken the brunt of it. Despite Pike’s endorsement, he knew his presence on the Enterprise was a sticking point with every high-ranking officer he reported to. He’d told his story two dozen times over, never changing a damn thing. Admiral Komack had been one of the first to hear it. Jim figured he wasn’t back a second time to report what the Admiral already knew. He was here for something else.

“Cadet Kirk?”

He looked up at the sound of his name and got to his feet, saluting the Admiral’s assistant, the pretty Lieutenant whose uniform never seemed even a hair out of place.

“The Admiral will see you now.”

The door was open; he stepped past her, trying to school the expression on his face into one of neutrality. His stomach had other ideas, and as he came to attention, giving a sharp salute, he told himself he wasn’t allowed to get sick all over the Admiral’s nice clean floor.

“At ease, Cadet Kirk,” Komack said from where he sat behind a wide wooden desk, the windows behind him showing a spectacular view of the San Francisco Bay. “Take a seat.”

Jim did as he was told, sitting on the edge of the chair. “Sir.”

Komack studied him for a long moment, his face devoid of all emotion as he tapped out a slow rhythm against the glossy desktop with the fingers of one hand.

Jim resisted the urge to nervously lick his lips.

“We’ve finally finished conducting the debriefs of all surviving officers, cadets and personnel of the Enterprise,” Komack eventually said. “The Academy Board met yesterday to confer on your placement within Starfleet.”

Jim swallowed thickly, forcing his hands to remain flat against his thighs. His voice came out quiet, maybe a little hoarse, when he said, “What did the Academy Board decide, sir?”

“There were many issues to weigh on, you understand. Your academic suspension at the time, the way Dr. McCoy illegally smuggled you onto the ship, the inevitable knowledge you brought with you, and your actions while in command,” Komack said.

Komack’s fingers stilled on the desktop as he leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking a bit. His gaze never left Jim’s. “I’ll be honest with you, Cadet Kirk. I’ve never liked your attitude while you trained here at the Academy. You were nothing like your father. You were nothing like your mother. You never gave me reason to believe otherwise. Until now. Starfleet owes your father eight hundred lives. I’m in the strange position of owing you mine.”

Jim blinked, shifting a little on his chair. “Sir?”

“We lost a lot of people in this engagement, Cadet Kirk,” Komack continued quietly. “A founding planet of the Federation was completely wiped out. The only survivors are those who weren’t present when the Narada appeared in orbit above Vulcan. Perhaps ten thousand have survived, maybe a little more, as judged by the Vulcan High Council. Earth would have shared that same fate if it hadn’t been for your actions and the actions of the rest of the crew on the Enterprise. It is a debt some officers do not want to believe they owe, or can’t believe. Then there are those who recognize that we are at a crossroads and there is only one right path any of us can take.

“Starfleet lost nearly all of the current and next graduating class, save for those who were on the Enterprise and managed to survive. We are already experiencing a washout rate that is quickly driving us towards a critical shortage of skilled officers that we will need to man the ships we are already beginning to rebuild. The Romulans and the Klingons are very close to reneging on the truce they entered into the last time they came to blows, no matter that this Nero was not part of the Romulan Empire when he destroyed Klingon ships. That he was from the future is something which will never become public knowledge, which will surely entail that the Romulans and the Klingons will go to war again.”

Komack frowned. “Starfleet will be unable to remain neutral if that happens. They’ve targets us before during their fighting and they will no doubt target us again. At our current manpower, and with the negative pall this has created in our recruitment efforts, I can’t be sure we will have the necessary strength to deal with the fallout that is coming.”

“Permission to speak, sir?” Jim finally asked.

“Permission granted.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Komack’s dark eyes bored into Jim’s, no longer neutral, just grimly determined. “Because we need you. As hard as that is for many in Starfleet Command to swallow, it’s the truth. We need you to be what the press is already calling you—a hero. We need you to be that so we can rebuild what we lost. When the time comes for war, we need to be ready. Your name on the lips of recruitment officers will get us the manpower Starfleet requires to adequately protect those in the Federation who need protecting. Which is why we’ve agreed to make your life even harder by reinstating your commission and formalizing the field promotion you gained, tied to the ship you captained.”

“Wait,” Jim exclaimed, leaning forward in surprise. “You’re making me a _Captain_? You’re giving me the _Enterprise_?”  
“Not by choice,” came the steely response. “Not by _choice_. Your actions against the Narada show that you deserve command, eventually. If things were different, we’d simply reinstate you, give you a medal, and let you climb your way up to flag rank instead of leap-frogging you ahead of older, more deserving officers. But the public expects to see you. They expect great things from you. We have to give them that if we’re going to get their sons and daughters into uniform. So yes, you will be made Captain. Yes, you will have the Enterprise—and every single officer left in command of a ship will hate your heroic guts. Congratulations.”

Jim closed his eyes, knowing that Admiral Komack was right. No one in the entire history of Earth’s military or Starfleet had ever been jumped from Cadet to Captain in one fell swoop. It was unheard of and he didn’t need to be told that it was going to come around and bite him on the ass. It already was, otherwise Komack wouldn’t have felt the need to point it out to him.

“Admiral Pike thinks you can handle the task that we’re giving you,” Komack said, and Jim opened his eyes in surprise at the new rank preceding Pike’s name. “Personally, I think he’s biased, but that is neither here nor there. The promotion ceremony is tomorrow morning at ten-hundred, though it is merely a formality. The paperwork has already been signed off on. You are dismissed, Captain.”

Jim got to his feet, feeling numb and not in his body as he saluted Admiral Komack, and exited the office. In a daze, he left the Starfleet Command wing, letting his feet take him outside into the cool summer evening. Waiting for him at the bottom of the wide concrete steps was McCoy.

“Hey,” McCoy said as he fell in step beside Jim. “Everything all right?”

“Still enlisted,” Jim said.

“That’s good.”

“They promoted me to Captain. They’re giving me the Enterprise.”

McCoy jerked to a hard halt, spinning to face Jim. “They did _what_?”

Jim stared at him, feeling his stomach twist. “I think I might throw up on you.”

“You don’t look happy, Jim. Shouldn’t you be happy about this?”

Jim let out a hollow little laugh, rubbing at his face and taking in a deep breath. “Everything I’ve ever wanted, Bones. _Everything_ —it’s just not how I thought I’d ever get it.”

They were in public, in the middle of a grassy area curiously empty except for the two of them, with Jim an officer on paper, if not yet uniform, and McCoy still a cadet, but still smart enough to understand that this promotion wasn’t a gift.

“What’s going on, Jim?” McCoy said, catching his eye.

Jim offered up a tight, almost resigned smile. “How do you think I’ll look in a recruitment vid?”

McCoy shook his head, reaching out to rest his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “So it’s like that, eh?”

“Yeah. It’s like that. Komack said they _needed_ me, but only for public consumption. He doesn’t believe I earned any of this shit.”

“It ain’t shit, Jim, and to hell with what Komack says. You earned it, no matter what they say. When’s the last time that damned Admiral’s commanded a ship anyway?”

“Does it matter?” Jim’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “He’s right, Bones. Youngest Captain in the fleet and everyone’s going to resent how I got it. Apparently heroic acts should only get you dead, not promoted.”

“Heroic acts get you a drink in my book and we’re late enough as it is. Come on, let’s go. Everyone’s commed me, wanting to know where we are.”

Several bars ringed Starfleet Academy out in the civilian world, catering to the enlisted and those who weren’t. The favored bar of every upperclassman was simply called the Watering Hole. Tonight, the door was closed when it was always propped open, manned by an older gentlemen bundled up to ward off the fog that always rolled in from the Pacific Ocean. He nodded at Jim and McCoy as they opened the door and slipped inside, his gaze sliding past them to warn those walking by that if they weren’t in Starfleet, they weren’t getting inside that night.

The civilians didn’t seem to mind.

The Watering Hole was dimly lit, cigarette smoke wafting through the air. It was crowded, the low buzz of conversation nothing like the jovial sound it used to be. People looked their way, offering up tentative smiles once they saw who had come through the door. Jim automatically smiled back even as he angled his way to the bar.

“Two shots and a glass of your top-shelf whiskey, Jeff,” Jim said over the shoulders of two cadets seated on bar stools.

The drinks came almost instantly. Jim passed the whiskey over to McCoy and kept the shot glasses for himself. “Send a round through the bar,” Jim added. “Whatever anyone wants. On me.”

“On the house,” Jeff replied, earning a murmur of thanks from those close enough to hear and a toast of their glasses.

The small wait staff that serviced the tables started taking orders even as Jim and McCoy made their way to the back where Spock, Uhura, Sulu, Chekov and Scotty were seated. There were extra chairs ringing the table that were unclaimed. McCoy snagged two for them even as Jim grabbed an unused chair and dragged it out into the middle of the bar. He left it there, only coming back to it when everyone had their drinks in hand.

His gaze drifted around the bar for a few seconds, eventually coming to rest on a man standing off to the side in a huddled group of security officers, whose name he still didn't know. He tilted his head in Cupcake’s direction, silently raising one shot glass. Cupcake seemed to get the gist of the gesture, because he squared his shoulders and barked out loudly, “Atten _shun_ ,” with something that might have been respect in his eyes.

The sound of chairs scraping back was drowned out by the noise of everyone immediately getting to their feet. Jim nodded his thanks and Cupcake grudgingly nodded back. Jim raised both shot glasses up into the air, the light in the bar shining through the amber liquid and turning it gold.

“To those who didn’t make it back,” he said, pitching his voice to carry over the crowd.

Slowly people raised their glasses in a toast, in a salute, voices alternating between fierce and grief-stricken as they echoed Jim’s words. Then every drink in the bar was drained dry, all except the full shot glass that Jim placed on that empty chair, like the memorial it was and wasn’t.

When he made it back to the table, there was already another drink waiting for him. A tall cold beer that did nothing to ease the tightness in his throat when he reached for it and took his first sip.

“Glad to see you made it, Spock,” Jim said as they all retook their seats. Beneath the table, McCoy put his hand on Jim’s thigh, digging in his fingers until it was almost painful before his grip went loose again.

Jim didn’t move.

“As I recall, I was given an order,” Spock said, voice quiet. “But even if I had not been so ordered, after everything that has happened, I know my place.”

Jim smiled, letting his gaze sweep across the faces surrounding him, knowing that a better crew of people couldn’t be found in the entirety of Starfleet. He lifted his glass and the seven of them offered up their own silent salute to the people they had lost and the tragedy that too many more had endured.

Someone turned on the sound system, conversation forced to get louder in order for people to be heard over the music. Groups drifted apart, reformed, broke again. The door kept opening and more people kept coming in, wearing the uniform of Starfleet across straight shoulders, chins held high.

The chair stayed empty, the shot glass stayed full, as everyone in that bar submerged their grief and their guilt in the harsh taste of alcohol, the edge of every glass tasting faintly of salt.

When Jim stood at attention during the promotion ceremony the following morning, he could still taste it all on his tongue; the bitterness and the pride.

The Enterprise would carry those who needed to serve back into the stars again.

It would be years before they buried their ghosts out there in the black.


End file.
